File:Frances (Appleton) Longfellow to Thomas Gold Appleton, 24 August 1856 (76572e27-5f84-4b23-8d16-169b9c5ef317).jpg

Manuscript letter

Archives Number: 1011/002.001-026#008

Nahant. Aug 24th 1856.
Dear Tom,
Whether our letters, by the Arabia, have reached you we feel to be very uncertain, as she left Halifax in so leaky a condition (from striking the rocks in a fog) that why she went at all puzzles our notions of English prudence. Prayers were said for her in the churches, & half the passengers remained, - among them young Prescott & his wife & children, but the Mountfords, who decided to go at last to Europe (her fears having always stood in the way) do not write whether they should venture on or not. The fearful accidents of this summer really shake one’s confidence in moving anywhere, & even, if stationary, one may be swallowed up or killed by lightning.
[p. 2] Did you see an account of the overwhelming scene upon an island in the Gulf near N. Orleans, where a storm drove the sea quite across it burying a huge Hotel, cottages & over 200 people. For once, fashion has proved itself useful &, at the disaster on Lake George, it is known that hoop petticoats saved several ladies, - not to mention their skillful swimming.
Henry wrote his thanks for your most pleasant letter, & the other, from Windsor, sounds very serenely comfortable, so that your summer will be as domestic as ours, - tho’ I think I could not exchange this rich variety of misty & sunny splendor, this fleet of ghostly sails on the horizon, this glorious Triton music all day and all night - & this briny perfume in the air, to me sweeter than all distilled by most consummate art, for your quiet, sluggish Thames with its fat, green meadows & fatter cows - & sheep, tho’ a right pleasant land of drowsy-bed it is. [p. 3] We have had a grand storm of two days, and we really seemed in a light-house. The strong blast shook our walls, Pea Island was one mass of seething foam, & the great grey billows roared in, tossing their snowy locks many feet beyond their usual advance. We read Cooper’s Red Rover to the boys, to beguile the time, when not irresistibly drawn to the window by the sublime spectacle, & finally all had the excitement & amusement of watching the wreck of our neighbour’ (Mrs Torreys) bathing house, its floating away, disporting, & the scattering on the flood of the many-colored garments, & the total breaking up of every fragment. Fancy Charley’s delight, & alertness in rushing along the beach, rescuing the dresses, at the risk of being swept away, & then helping to save ours with ropes &c. Poor little Erny, however, could not share this fun. He was down, & still is, with a kind of slow [p. 4] fever caught from a complete drenching on a pic-nic with the Tudors, driving home with a slow horse & a sudden thunder squall. I trust it will not linger, so as to lessen the fine health he has had this summer, but it saddens us, & I grieve to see Mary so anxious about Angus. He seemed such a naturally robust little fellow I cannot but think he will soon be better. Who should appear last Sunday but old Gurowski, burly as ever, but more decent in dress & healthier in look than I have ever seen him, - with black whiskers & white beard, rouge & noir they should have been to typify his favorite passion, who, as usual, had a world of gossip & was the herald of Lowell who gave us a delightful day on Monday. He is amused at the way all the foreign emigrantions have besieged him since his return to get Rölker’s place in Cambridge, which has been given to Schmidt. He kindly brought me a beautifully carved stag brooch in ivory & Alice a Roman scarf. His disgust with every thing German amused Henry. I sympathised with it heartily.
[p. 5 marked 2] It is delightful to have him back again – but his father’s house is a sad one for him, the sister is in such a strange state. We are more hopeful of Fremont - & I am glad to see the Illustrated News does him honor. I have been reading the boys his life, which is a wonderful one for all heroic qualities certainly. You would laugh to hear even little Edy perpetually shouting the burden of one of the most popular songs. “We are bound to work all night, We are bound to work all day, I bet my money on the Mustang Colt You had better not bet on the Grey” – The two last lines she gives with peculiar Gusto. Erny’s favorite verse is –
“The old Grey Horse (Buchanan) when he
tries to trot – Du da, du da,
Goes round & round in the same
old spot,
Duda – du – da day –“
[p. 6] Sumner is in the Alleghany Mountains, & now Congress is over we hope he will be able to gain. He wrote a noble letter to the invitation of Young Man at the State to speak, - & as soon as he is able, too soon I fear, he will attempt to aid the election.
We wrote you of Curtis’ success as orator, or stump speaker rather, and I hear much of a literary address on the duty of the American scholar, or some such title, as the best thing he has ever done. Gurowski said it was magnificent, & Miss Hamilton, who was at Mrs Bryant’s lately, praised it most warmly. Our Cliff House Costar is at the Hotel & busy in assisting at tableaux & charades &c, even private theatricals they have had there with the Carys &c in some of the less public drawing-rooms.
The Blatchfords are all there, ten of them & Cary & her husband & boy dined with us yesterday.
[p. 7] Dr Piper, the etcher of forest trees, is at the Tudors, & he is going on like a true American genius perfecting his style with a truth to nature that would enchant Ruskin. He attempted to get the frost foliage off window-panes & has it in splendid colors, very beautiful & curious, beyond any photograph. Miss Davie seems altogether fascinated with his fresh, original nature.
Henry drove over yesterday with Sam Eliot (who has a cunning little cottage here) to Beverly to see Crawford but he had not arrived – only Madame, who had great trouble at Newport, a new governess undertaking to have a typhoid fever & the people in the farm-house where they lodged (near the Howes) having a panic, & refusing her any help, so after making her own bed &c, for a day or two, she departed, leaving a nurse for the poor woman. It broke up their summer sadly. The N. York paper still harps upon the Beethoven Festival [p. 8] saying “Mr Perkins has had his oration, when is Mr Crawford to have his?” which Dwight is justly indignant at. Why dont you go & visit Henry’s Fanny Farrer near merry Carlisle, who, from her letters, must be an interesting & thoughtful person? You could take it as a sketching excursion & would be royally welcomed. A few days since Henry had a letter from a German ending thus: “Be happy, be happy with all your family, and let me admire & esteem you a willing but abandoned member of human society”!
Charley Perkins was here the other day & I congratulated him upon his new symphony – his baby – whose vocal powers might give him some new musical ideas. Mrs Lizzie (Mrs Torrey’s daughter) has given us one in the next house. I wrote you of poor Tom Wright’s sad fate in Texas – murdered by his Indian Mexican guides or Indians as they said! And also how Berkshire hills were darkened over by dear good Charles Sedgwick’s death. Think of Amos Lawrence as Fillmore candidate for Governor! They know it is hope [p. 5 cross] less, but know not where else to go. Love to the Storys. Yrs affly
Fanny. We have greatly enjoyed the carriage. Henry’s knee is better but still not well
[p. 1 cross] Hooker & his bride Miss Winthrop were in the Arabia.

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